


Winged Qpid, Painted Blind

by thesadchicken



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Could be both!, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Is it an Ancient Greek Myth retelling? Or is it a Star Trek: TNG retelling?, M/M, Qcard Big Bang, Qcard Big Bang 2020, very brief mention of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27246925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: “Three tasks,” they said, “to prove him worthy.” Although proof was not needed, Q agreed. Three tasks, nothing more. Three tasks, and perhaps then they would see.Q is the god of love and desire. Picard is an extraordinary mortal.
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard/Q
Comments: 16
Kudos: 38
Collections: Qcard Big Bang





	Winged Qpid, Painted Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](https://nuclear-wessels.tumblr.com/post/620762539312201728/not-to-be-a-raging-queer-or-anything-but-i-would#notes) by [nuclear-wessels](https://nuclear-wessels.tumblr.com/). Thank you for letting me write it!
> 
> This story was written for the Qcard Big Bang 2020 and illustrated by the very talented [SoftKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftKing/pseuds/SoftKing)! The artwork is breathtaking! Check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/QcardBigBang/works/27260968?view_adult=true) ♡

The grapes hung heavy on the vine, swaying with the breeze. Jean-Luc pressed his fingertips to the fruit and watched its fragile skin glisten in the last rays of daylight. He looked up at the sky, where the first evening star was blinking down at him. Tonight, he would chart them.

He walked up the path leading to the woods and went beyond the shrubbery. The hill behind the trees would conceal him from the villagers _—_ and bring him closer to the heavens. He climbed, clutching his wooden tablet, and only stopped when he could see the horizon.

There, on top of the hill, Jean-Luc sat and waited for darkness. He enjoyed the solitude. Closing his eyes, he listened to the silence. When he opened them, a man was standing in front of him. Tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair; his eyes bright as jewels; his golden sandals shimmering despite the gloom.

Jean-Luc mistook him for the Messenger. He stood up, startled, and let his tablet fall to the ground. Holding his palms up, he took a cautious step back. “Divine trickster,” he breathed, “have you come to me with a message from the Underworld?”

The immortal tilted his head to the side, full lips curving into a playful smile. “I am not Hermes, you obtuse piece of flotsam. I call myself Q.”

The peculiar name rang in the air around them. Jean-Luc frowned. He did not recognize it and was immediately suspicious. “Would you mind identifying what you are?”

Q raised his eyebrows. “You risk the wrath of a god with your foolish questions.”

“Then you are an Olympian?”

“I am of Olympus, yes.”

The sun had disappeared from the sky. Jean-Luc could only make out a shadow and the mischievous gleam in those strange eyes. “You will forgive me, Q, but I can’t imagine what a god would want with a mere mortal like me,” he said, failing to keep the distrust out of his voice.

“You can’t, can you?” came the mocking reply. “And yet you’re the talk of the village. Jean-Luc Picard knows the names of the stars, they say.”

This was enough to confirm Jean-Luc’s suspicions. “Has my brother sent you?”

A flash of white light crossed the forest below. Q was silent for a few moments. Then, “No mortal sends me. I’ve come down here with a warning: you have gone too far already. Return home immediately and never look up at the night sky again.”

“That's quite a directive,” Jean-Luc scoffed.

“I suggest you take this seriously, Picard. Things never end well for humans who defy the gods.”

“Is that a threat?”

Another flash of light. Again, that menacing smile. “I will leave now,” Q said. “But I will not promise never to appear again.”

The others were furious. Olympus shook under their wrath. Even Atlas felt the tremors run down his arms and back. Q waited in silence. He knew what they would say.

 _Get rid of him_.

It was their answer to everything. And Q had volunteered, after all, had he not? It was his responsibility to make sure that the mortal remained where he was, both feet planted firmly in the dirt, and that his eyes should no longer travel the stars. There were secrets to be kept. Humans were too curious; they tended to reach too far. It wasn’t the first time they’d had to be reminded of their place in the universe.

“What am I to do, then?” Q drawled, stifling a yawn. “Smite him? Curse him?”

 _A heifer_ , they said. _Shoot him with your arrow and make sure the first thing he sees is a small brown heifer_. They laughed, they cackled. _Yes, make the arrogant human fall in love with a cow; that will teach him humility_.

It was a fitting punishment. Many had suffered a similar fate before. Q flew down from Olympus immediately. Time had passed quickly in the mortal realm. Picard was once again on his hill, his wooden tablet on his knees. He was drawing constellations, his clumsy human hands eager and fervent. There was a sort of quiet reverence in his eyes, as if all of the world’s wonders were at his feet. Slowly, he looked up once more, and he sighed. The cosmos called his name. Like moth to a flame, he was drawn to it. His hands flew over his tablet once again. He could not stop. This, Q thought, was an act of worship.

Of course, it was the reason behind his punishment. Had he spent his evenings at the temples instead of on the hills, he would be safe now. But Q knew in that moment that Picard was a man incapable of kneeling before the Immortals. And because of this, he was greater somehow _—_ yes, greater than all of them put together. The realization moved Q deeply. He did not like it.

He already had a heifer waiting at the bottom of the hill. The night was warm, the air sickly sweet. Q reached in his quiver for a golden arrow. His hand ready on his mighty bow, he pulled back the string. The point of the arrow glistened with pink poison. Picard sat oblivious in the grass, face turned towards the sky. Q aimed for the heart; he always struck true.

But the moment before his fingers let go, he saw Picard close his eyes. A moment of utter stillness. Silence. Nothing could have breached that mortal flesh then; the man was untouchable, sheltered within his own mind. Daydreaming. There it was: the thumping of that fragile human heart. Q stopped. He observed the dignity with which Picard tilted his chin upwards, the emotion that painted his cheeks. It was terrible and magnificent, and for the first time Q longed to feel the touch of Death upon his shoulder, so that he might know the same passion and uncertainty and haste, the pleasure of being truly alive. More than anything, he wanted to know affection. He wanted to feel and feel and _feel_ until the surface of the Earth bent under the weight of his love.

Here, under the watchful gaze of silver-haired Selene, Q lowered his weapon. One swift flick of his wrist and he pricked his finger with the arrow. Picard opened his eyes _—_ such lovely hazel eyes. Moonlight struck Q, and with a wicked grin he disappeared into the night.

The next few days passed in silence for Jean-Luc. He did not heed the Immortal’s warning; he continued to study the night sky. A week soon went by, then two. One early morning, as he walked down the hill, Jean-Luc felt the grass lash against his ankles. There was no wind, no breeze. He turned to find himself face to face with Q.

“I see you’ve returned,” Jean-Luc said dryly. Part of him was still convinced this was his brother Robert’s doing, for their childhood rivalry had grown into bitterness and jealously. Perhaps the gods had answered pious Robert’s prayers and had sent someone to pester Jean-Luc into obedience.

“I was hoping for something more along the lines of ‘welcome back, Q, it's a pleasure to see you again’,” Q smirked.

Jean-Luc clutched his tablet. “What is it you want?”

“ _Want_ ,” Q scoffed. “I don’t _want_ anything _—_ certainly not from you.”

“Then what brings you here?”

The rising sun cast shadows on the ground between them. Q appeared fully now, pale golden skin sparkling like daylight over the sea. “I let you go unpunished,” he said, his voice suddenly grave, “so I must be punished in turn.”

“I don’t understand,” Jean-Luc frowned.

“You've been put on trial, Picard. And I’m the judge.”

“That’s your punishment?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Jean-Luc shook his head in disbelief. “Why am I being judged? What crime have I committed?”

“Your crime, unsurprisingly, is hubris,” Q replied.

“I see. What happens to me if I am found guilty?”

Q’s smile returned; playful, menacing. “ _If_ you are found guilty?” he laughed. “You don’t think you actually stand a chance, do you? _When_ you are found guilty, Jean-Luc, you will be sent to the Underworld. Oh, don’t look so distraught; I hear Hades is a generous host.”

The laurels seemed to gather around them, eager to hear more. Jean-Luc looked away. He was determined not to be intimidated. If the gods wanted to end him, there was little he could do to prevent it; but he would not give up so easily. Like Tantalus, he would reach and reach and reach, for there was defiance in the act of trying. Faith _—_ not in divinity, but in oneself _—_ had always enraged the Immortals.

“I haven’t lost yet,” Jean-Luc said.

In the silence that followed, he turned towards Q. Their eyes met. Birdsong, the distant hum of life from the village. And then Jean-Luc saw them, appearing between Q’s shoulder blades: great white feathers, touched by sunlight, stretching out towards the sky. Wings. Q blinked, and they fluttered.

“No,” he said softly. “Not yet.”

The trial needed a beginning and an end. Q suggested an age old tradition: three tasks to be completed before Helios’ chariot crossed the sky thirty times. The others sneered. Q had never been one for traditions; had he finally come to his senses?

“I will only allow myself this one weakness,” he answered their jeering remark. “Enjoy it while you can. When this is over, you’ll find me as dismissive of tradition as ever.”

 _Very well then_ , they said. _Three tasks to prove him worthy_. Although proof was not needed, Q agreed. Three tasks, nothing more. Three tasks, and perhaps then they would see.

Q flew over the mortal lands. Green woods, white sand, blue sea. He was only allowed to design two out of three tasks. He would not go easy on Picard, for every head on Olympus was turned towards him now. They would be watching closely, looking for flaws, weaknesses, inconsistencies. But more than that, Q himself wished to see his mortal succeed against all odds, to emerge from the flames bruised and triumphant. Gods were excessively fond of heroes, and Q was no exception.

It also occurred to him that the final task, designed by the others, would be particularly difficult. Picard needed to be prepared. It did not take long to devise the tasks. Before sundown, Q returned to Olympus and dabbed his fingers in ambrosia. He brought a chalice to his lips and drank his fill of nectar, letting it trickle down his chin.

When the time came, he flew down to Picard’s cottage. Day had not yet bled into the quiet of the night. He watched his mortal sleep; watched his eyelids tremble with the remains of a dream. Q waited, unwilling to chase Morpheus away. Words from centuries yet to come filled his mind as he slowly sat next to Picard in bed. _Noble in reason;_ _infinite in faculty_. He would succeed; he would prove his worth and earn his place on Earth. _In action how like an angel_. The way his hands moved over the wooden tablet, the way his eyes caressed the heavens. _In apprehension how like a god_. Perhaps this was his greatest sin: to love his own humanity so fiercely that it rattled the stars.

Picard opened his eyes.

“Q!” he exclaimed, grabbing a chiton to cover himself. “What are you doing here?”

The first task had begun.

Jean-Luc faced every trap, trick, deception and ruse with growing anger. The gods did not play fair. For every riddle he solved there was a monster to slay. He was not allowed to rest. Every new day was a test. Wonders, apparitions, nightmares crawled into his life; he encountered Cyclopes and Furies and terrible creatures called Borg. Q hovered nearby, distracting him with sarcasm and mockery.

But every night, when Jean-Luc closed his eyes and fell asleep, he had the most pleasant and confusing dreams. He was alone amongst the stars, and in the silence of infinity a winged figure approached him. Then he felt warmth; tenderness as he had never known before. The winged man moved closer still. Jean-Luc closed his eyes, for he knew who it was. He knew he should not allow himself to fall so easily, but in the haze of dreams he could never stop himself. Gentle arms wrapped around his waist. He placed his head on the other’s shoulder. A soft whisper, _I believe in you_.

The dreams gave him strength, but he was disinclined to think about them in the morning. The shame of finding comfort in his nemesis’ arms _—_ even in dreams _—_ was too great to bear. When Q appeared, Jean-Luc looked away. They continued the tests. Every night brought the same joy and the same humiliation. Instead of distracting him, it pushed him forward.

He completed the first task, then the second. His adventures had taken him out into the plains, where he had somehow outwitted the Borg. Hardly believing it himself, he collapsed onto the grass. And there they were, calling to him now, calling to him always: the stars, blinking down at him in the dark.

Q appeared, wings tucked in, and sat down next to Jean-Luc. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Perhaps it was the way he said it, or the way he leaned in ever so slightly as he spoke, or the smile he was trying to hide. Perhaps it was none of these things. Whatever happened in that moment, it became perfectly clear to Jean-Luc that the dreams were more than what they appeared to be. He looked up at Q in wonder as the realization hit him.

“Thank you,” he heard himself whisper.

Q went impossibly still. “For what?”

“You had a hand in helping me get out of this.”

“I was the one that got you into it.”

Jean-Luc couldn’t quite tell if that was remorse in Q’s voice, or if it was something else entirely. All he knew was that the dreams had brought him comfort and strength when he most needed them, and through all the anger and resentment he was sincerely grateful. He would never admit it to Q, but it was true.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now we wait for the final task,” Q answered. “I expect them to reveal it any minute.”

Silence. Jean-Luc closed his eyes. A breath, then, “Fear is a terrible thing, isn’t it, Q?”

“You think they fear you?” There was no sarcasm in the Immortal’s voice this time. Jean-Luc looked up at him once again.

“Yes,” he replied. “They fear me because of my knowledge.”

“No. They fear you because of your hunger. You want the universe, and they know it. When you’re on that little hill of yours, your mind is open to options you would never consider otherwise. That is the exploration that awaits you. Not mapping stars and studying constellations, but charting the unknown possibilities of existence.”

Jean-Luc shook his head, slowly. “Q, what is it that you're trying to tell me?” he whispered.

Q’s eyes sparkled in the darkness, utterly alien. “Hold on to your human heart, Jean-Luc. It’s more powerful than you think.”

For one astonishing moment dreams and reality seemed to meet, for somewhere in those alien eyes there was comfort, and joy, and a wildness that tugged at Jean-Luc’s heart. He closed the distance between them and touched his lips to Q’s. The god’s skin was cold but soft; sweet like honey. He sighed into the kiss. They did not move, did not speak. They simply breathed, holding each other. Somehow, Jean-Luc convinced himself he was dreaming still. He allowed himself another gentle kiss.

A drop of nectar was caught in the corner of Q’s mouth.

“You have the power to end humanity. If you do, you will survive and create a new race over which you shall be permitted to rule. If you don’t… you shall be sent to the Underworld and suffer eternal torment.”

Picard frowned. “You are asking me to choose between humanity and my own survival.”

Q remained silent. The others had spoken. This was the final task.

“You know my answer,” Picard said. “ _They_ know my answer.”

Of course they knew. It was never their intention to give him a fair chance of winning. They also knew it would pain Q to reveal such unjust a task. He could imagine them laughing at the irony _—_ Q, who had never valued morality, who had sneered at Dice and called her gullible, suddenly concerned with justice! _In love with a mortal_ , he heard them cackle. They’d seen him prick his finger with his own arrow. They’d watched him on the hill. And now they were sending Picard to Hades. The one place Q couldn’t follow.

He refused to look away. He refused to betray emotion, even as Picard gave his answer.

“I will not end humanity.”

A shudder went through the ground. The soil cracked beneath their feet. Picard lost his balance and fell. He tried to push himself back to his feet, but a violent jolt heaved his body into the air. A chasm had formed. Picard disappeared into the belly of the earth.

When Jean-Luc woke up, he was in a small boat, floating over the River Stynx. He recognized it immediately. He drifted, incapable of measuring time in a place where time did not exist. The boat finally came to a stop, and a shadow fell upon him. Thanatos reached out with his cold, bony hand and lifted Jean-Luc’s chin.

“You do not belong here,” he rasped.

Jean-Luc shuddered at the touch of Death, but remained calm. “I have been sent to Hades to suffer eternal punishment.”

Thanatos grabbed him by the arm, exposed his wrist and dug his fingernails into the still-warm flesh. Jean-Luc cried out in pain, but when he looked down he saw that gold, instead of red, dripped down his palm.

“In your veins flows ichor, not blood,” said Thanatos.

 _Ichor_. Jean-Luc stared in shock. “There must be some mistake…” he breathed.

Thanatos released him with a growl. “Do not waste my time. Olympus remains idle, but we of the Underworld know no rest.”

A violent wind shoved the boat away from the shore. Jean-Luc lost his balance. As he lay with his back on the wood, he remembered the softness of an embrace, and the words that had prompted it. _Hold on to your human heart_.

Nectar. The drink of the gods.

Q’s kiss had granted Jean-Luc immortality.

The boat reached the surface, gliding over black waters until the sun came pouring down, warm, so warm; melting the last icy traces of Hades. Jean-Luc did not move, although the sky had appeared, blue as ever, right above him. His initial bewilderment faded and was replaced by anger. He felt he had been tricked. Now, with ichor in his veins, he no longer knew himself. His mortality had been such a great part of him; to exist without it was unimaginable. He struggled to remember the face of Death. It was already fading from his memory.

“Welcome back,” Q’s voice echoed through the wood.

The boat had quietly slipped onto the riverbank. Jean-Luc couldn’t tell how long he’d been away. He stayed in the boat, still dazed, and looked around him. Q was standing only a few paces away, glittering in divine splendor, white wings splayed. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, right where the nectar had been.

And suddenly Picard’s anger melted away. He remembered what had happened; he remembered that he’d been the one to lean in. The kiss was entirely his fault. He had not truly been deceived or tricked _—_ not this time. Or perhaps he had fooled himself. He remembered Q’s skin pressed against him, fresh and soft as a ripe fig. A single kiss. Here he was.

“Now what?” he asked weakly, the same question he’d asked that night. It would take time to get used to this, he knew. Existence was as new to him today as on the day of his birth. But he’d always chased the unknown. Now it came to him, and he was enchanted and terrified.

“Now,” Q answered, “you’re free to go as far as you wish.”

He held his hand out. Jean-Luc did not take it.

“I can’t pretend to be pleased with this,” he said.

“I won’t apologize, if that’s what you want from me. It was necessary. You know there was no other way.”

“Perhaps I was meant to die then, like any other mortal.”

“Had that been the case, you would never have kissed me,” Q smirked. “Don’t you understand, Jean-Luc; you saved _yourself_.”

Zephyr, gentlest of winds, whispered in the bushes. The elements sang, and life bloomed all around them. How could one resist such beauty, such mystery? Still, Jean-Luc couldn’t help but worry.

“Won’t they be angry?”

“Oh yes, furious,” Q chuckled. “But there isn’t much they can do about it now, is there?”

Worrying was a human habit, it seemed. What did an Immortal do? Jean-Luc’s eyes were once again drawn to the sky, and although he could not see the stars yet, he knew they were waiting for him.

“So… as far as I wish?”

Q held his hand out again. “I know all the short cuts.”

Jean-Luc hesitated. His initial distrust had not disappeared yet, not completely. It would take time and patience. Luckily he had both.

“Good,” he smiled, taking Q’s hand. “You’ll show me how to avoid them.”

**Author's Note:**

> ✦ Even though this story is based on the myth of Eros and Psyche, I've always associated Q with Hermes, god of travel, thievery, merchants and tricksters. He was also the messenger of the gods, known for his wit and humor.
> 
> ✦ The title is from Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream".
> 
> _Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,  
>  And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._
> 
> ✦ There's more Shakespeare in there (because of course there is, this is a Qcard fic): Hamlet's famous speech," _What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!"_
> 
> ✦ Heifer = cow. Cow in French = vache, which is pronounced Vash. Get it? I'm hilarious.
> 
> ✦ Helios is the god of the sun. He was thought to ride a golden chariot which dragged the sun across the sky.
> 
> ✦ Dice (or Dike) is the goddess of justice and the spirit of moral order and fair judgment.
> 
> ✦ A chiton is a form of tunic that fastens at the shoulder.
> 
> ✦ The maxim " _Gnothi seauton_ " (Know Thyself) was inscribed in the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, and was kind of a big deal in ancient Greece.


End file.
